


Pain, Heartbreak, Loss, Death

by the_hopeless_existentialist



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Ghost Sherlock, Grief/Mourning, Loss, M/M, Reichenbach Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-09 07:28:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10406973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_hopeless_existentialist/pseuds/the_hopeless_existentialist
Summary: Sherlock wakes to find himself outside Bart’s Hospital, after the fall, looking down at his body. This is what happens next.





	

I felt cold, so cold. My skin prickling as the hairs stood up on end. I felt odd, disconnected. Where was I? What was happening? I swallowed down the panic. Okay, breathe. Had I overdosed, again? My limbs felt heavy, like lead. I couldn’t move. _Oh God--_ No, don’t panic. I have to observe, make my deductions, before reaching a conclusion. So, observe… what can I feel? I felt cold all over, a pressure on one side of my head. Oh, I was lying down on something, on something hard. Okay, that’s… good. More sensations, more input, what else can I feel? I felt numb, the space around me deafeningly silent. What happened? Don’t panic, _don’t panic!_ I needed to ground myself, seeking out my heartbeat, the dull rhythmic throbbing, a reminder, a constant companion. Counting heartbeats-- silence. Their absence was entirely dissonant from my racing thoughts.

Oh my God. _Was I dying?_

I blinked my eyes open in that instance. The stream of information that suddenly assaulted me was overwhelming. The light seared across my vision, blinding. And the noise, there was so much noise. People shouting, screaming, a car horn, an alarm sounding somewhere! I blinked desperately, the scene around me slowly drawing into focus. I was stood, not lying down, on the pavement outside Bart’s hospital. There were people everywhere. I scanned the crowd quickly, making my deductions; three nurses, a doctor on a cigarette break, the women in the long coat, well she was a teacher, primary school obviously, a couple who were here to visit a sick relative, the flowers abandoned at their feet, all of them their eyes wide; pain, fear, sadness. I found myself drawing closer to the epicentre of their attention, a sickening feeling growing in my stomach. Another small step forward and then I could-- _Oh God!_

And with that the memories came flooding back; standing on the roof, the wind tugging at my coat, on the phone to John, needing him to listen to me, the sound of the phone hitting the asphalt and then I’d jumped, hearing my name wrenched from John’s throat as the ground rushed up to meet me. Oh my God, Oh my God! John, where was John? I tore my eyes away from the bloodied body for a moment, my eyes flicking across seeking out John’s familiar face. And there he was, rushing forward, frantic. He pushed himself through the crowd, trying to get closer to me, desperate.

“Please, please let me through. He’s my friend, he’s my-- Sherlock? He’s mine” he stuttered out, his voice thick with panic and grief. Dropping to his knees, his fingers closing over a wrist, feeling for a pulse, I knew he wouldn’t find, feeling the ghost of his coarse fingers grasping at my own wrist. He slumped back, the life seeming to drain from him, unable to hold himself up. “Oh God, no, no,” his voice shattering and breaking as he spoke. A nurse had knelt down beside him, supporting him, letting him lean into her shoulder. Oh God, what had I done?  The expression on his face clawed at my chest, pain and grief carved so deeply into his skin that his life seemed to pour out through the cracks, he looked as if he would shatter. And then everything happened very quickly. The crowd was cleared; a trolley pushed through, the body then lifted and placed, blood blooming across the sheet. And John remained kneeling on the ground, my blood saturating his jeans, his face in his hands.

 

*******************

 

I had followed him home, to Baker Street. I didn’t know what else to do with myself and I wanted to be near John. No, I needed to be near John. I wanted to reach out and touch him, let him know that I was ok, that it was all part of the plan, my brilliant amazing plan. But he couldn’t hear me, he couldn’t feel me. I had sat down in my chair and watched him, watched as the grief unfolded and watched as the weight of what had transpired began to suffocate him. I watched as he paced about the living room and I watched as he stalked to the kitchen and retrieved the unopened bottle of whisky and a glass. He slumped down heavily in his chair, eyeing mine almost suspiciously. He went to pour some whisky into the glass and then after a moment’s hesitation he rose the bottle to his lips instead.

“Why, Sherlock? I just want to know why. Why do you always have to be so bloody minded? Why do you always rush into things and leave me behind? I was there, Sherlock. I was right there. I thought we were supposed to be partners in this--” he hesitated as he took another angry glug from the bottle, grimacing slightly as the alcohol burned down his throat. “The brilliant detective and--” he breathed heavily “and his idiot blogger sidekick”

“You were always so much more than that John. I needed you.” I couldn’t help speaking out then; even knowing he couldn’t hear me. Did John really believe that? “You helped me see things, to understand things. No-one else could do that. You were instrumental to my work John and you were my--” I faltered as John began to speak again.

“Did I really mean that little to you Sherlock?” his voice broke with grief but his eyes remained hardened by anger. A lump formed in my throat, his words cutting into me like a blade. I had considered anger and hatred as perfectly plausible outcomes, but the reality stung, the truth pounding into me relentlessly over and over again. “Sherlock, how could you do that to me? To Me! How could you be so selfish?”

“John, I--” I stopped to clear my throat, struggling to get the words out. I realised I was crying, the tears running completely unbidden down my face. “I had to. Moriarty, he was going to kill you, he had a sniper on you. I needed to, John. There was no other way. I had to protect you.” My word were coming out as staccato now, punctuated by heaving breaths and almost sobs. “Please don’t hate me John. Please, I was doing it for you. I was doing it to save you. I couldn’t bear it if I got you killed, I would never have forgiven myself. John, you deserve so much more than this.” I paused, lowering my gaze. I couldn’t bear to look at him. “You deserve so much more than me, John”.

“You bloody bastard” John yelled suddenly leaping to his feet. “You bloody bastard. I fucking hate you! Sherlock, what the fuck do I do now? Why do you never think? Why?!” he screamed, slamming the half full bottle of whiskey against the hearth, glass and alcohol flying everywhere. “Fuck!” he shouted vehemently as he turned, towards the kitchen, tossing his chair aside as he went. Mrs Hudson appeared at the door a moment later, I hadn’t heard her footsteps on the stairs.

“John, my dear, I heard a commotion.” Her voice softened when she saw him. “Oh John, let me do that and then I’ll make us some tea.” Her eyes were red and puffy. So, she knew. Maybe Lestrade had told her.

“It’s fine” John muttered, gripping the handle of the dustpan and brush he had fetched so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“Okay, then let me just sit here for a while” she moved to sit in my chair. John stared at her in horror and she faltered.

“Actually, I just want to be alone right now.” John said, looking away, his gaze landing once again on me,”

“John, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. It’s not what he would have wanted--”

“Mrs Hudson, please” John begged, tears threatening. He swallowed, hard.

“Ok then dear, I’ll be downstairs. Please call me, if you need anything. I just-- I don’t know what to say John. None of us saw this coming.” It didn’t fail my notice that she picked the sig. up from the desk as she left, casting one last worried glance at John before heading back downstairs. John hovered a moment longer before crouching down, intending to clean up the broken glass. I sat and watched, heart aching, my chest tight. John’s anger dissipated quickly, quelled by the tidal wave of his grief. He faltered, his movements slowing and then stopping altogether. “Oh god, oh god, oh god.” He started shaking. “What did I do? What I said to you Sherlock, I called you a heartless machine. I let you believe that I hated you. Oh god, is that why-- is this my-- oh god, this is my fault.”

“Stop John, please STOP!” I snapped at him, my vision blurring at the edges, I felt dizzy. And sick. Oh my god, I was going to throw up.

John continued “Sherlock I let you down. She said that none of us saw this coming. Sherlock, _I_ should have seen this coming, I should have known. I should have-- I should have been there to stop you. Sherlock I am so so so sorry. I am so sorry” and then John broke down completely, his body convulsing under the weight of the emotion tearing through him, paralysed, unable to move. I wanted to leave but I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. And so there we sat for a long while, John curled up on the floor, amongst the broken glass and I, in my chair, my knees tucked under me, feeling lost and utterly broken.

 

*******************

 

The funeral was four days later. I didn’t attend the ceremony. I couldn’t. And as it turned out, neither could John. I waited by my grave for him, instead. My heart was breaking.  I had seen it all in my line of work; love, pain, suffering, loss and grief and I hadn’t understood it; a chemical defect found on the losing side. Well, now I was firmly on the losing side, drowning in it. I could not even begin to comprehend the suffering I had caused the people who cared for me; Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, Molly, even Mycroft, his stature even more solemn than usual, as if he carried the world across his shoulders, and John. Oh John.

John came late afternoon, with Mrs Hudson and they both stood a while talking. I withdrew a little, waiting until Mrs Hudson left and it was just me and John. I edged forward until I was stood in front of him, my headstone between us. I wish I could speak to him. I wish I could apologise, tell him how much I missed him. John looked thoughtful for a moment, trying to find his words.

“Oh Sherlock, you--” he cleared his throat before continuing, his voice steadier this time. “You told me once that you weren’t a hero. You know, there were times where I didn’t even think you were human, but let me say this: You were the best man and the most human, human being that I have ever known and no-one will ever convince me that you told me a lie and so…” he looked away, after Mrs Hudson and for a moment I thought he was going to leave. Then he turned back to face me, placing his fingers on top of the headstone. I felt my heart clench, before I knew what I was doing I reached forward, grazing his fingers with my own. “I was so alone, and I owe you so much.” He sniffed.  “Okay.” He braces himself and turns to walk away, his fingers slipping out from underneath mine. Then he suddenly spins back around.

“No, please, there’s just one more thing, one more miracle Sherlock, for me. Just don’t be… dead.” His voice cracks and he can no longer hold back the tears. “Would you do…? Just for me, Sherlock, just stop it. Stop this.” He raises his hand to his face to catch the tears as they fall. I felt so helpless. What could I do now? It was too late. I had done it all wrong. I had screwed up and now it was too late. I had thought I was saving John, from Moriarty when really he needed saving from me. What had I done? Moments stretch into long minutes before John straightens up, slipping back behind the mask, forever the soldier. He nods decisively and then leaves. And once again, I am all alone.

 

********************

 

I followed John to therapy the next day. I needed to make sure that he was going be ok. My consciousness had been fraying over the last couple of days and I was finding it harder and harder to focus, my mind scattered and disorientated. I expected I didn’t have long left and I needed to make sure John was going to be alright.

Ella was sat in her chair, legs crossed, smiling sympathetically. John was opposite, purposefully avoiding her gaze. They had spent most of the session in silence. Ella cleared her throat trying to catch John’s gaze.

“John, there’s stuff that you wanted to say…” she hesitated for a breath “but didn’t say it.”

“Yeah” John muttered almost inaudibly.

“Well, say it now” she prompted encouragingly.

“No” John said firmly, putting his hand up and shaking his head. “Sorry, I can’t” his voice catching on the words.

“It would be good to get it out into the open, John. It’ll let you move on from this, allow you to grieve.” She smiled again

“I can’t!” John  spat at her “I didn’t get to say-- it doesn’t seem right to put those words out there, they should have belonged to him, I can’t put them into the world now he’s not here. I can’t”

“John--”

“And what if I don’t want to move on? He was the best thing to ever happen to me. Without him, well I’m nothing” he swiped angrily at the tears, soaking the sleeve of his jumper.

“Okay” Ella said decisively, shutting her notebook “We’ll finish here for today, but John…” she leant forward in her chair to rest her hand against his forearm “You can call me at any time. You need to talk to people, if not me someone else. You don’t have to do this by yourself.” John did not look at her; she waited a moment before withdrawing her hand, allowing him to stand.

“Thank you.” John muttered, finally looking up, offering a weak smile, that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Look after yourself, John. I mean it.”

I had disappeared to my bedroom when I had arrived back at the flat. I could hear John clattering around in the kitchen preparing food and making tea. A little while later I could hear the low sound of the TV. It was comforting.

I felt so weary, my bones aching, my muscles stiff, my eyes heavy, threatening to fall closed. Not yet, not yet. Just a little longer. The coldness had started creeping in again and I shivered. I did not want to think about what was happening to me, about where I was going to go next. The thought was terrifying and I didn’t want to leave John behind. Even in the throes of his pain and ferocious loss I felt safe and comfortable around him. If I could take back the fall, I would. I would find another way, but not this… never ever this. I squeezed my eyes shut, but it was too late to stop the tears from falling.

I heard the door to my bedroom creak open and John’s footsteps on the carpet. I open my eyes, blinking in the darkness until I could see him framed in the doorway. He hovered a moment uncertain before moving into the room. He sat down on the edge of my bed and emptied out his pockets, piling losing change, a couple of receipts and his phone onto the bedside table. His fingers paused over the lamp for a second but then he seemed to think better of it and instead just lay down in the darkness. I could see his chest rising and falling and I could feel his heartbeat through the mattress. I wanted to reach out and touch him so badly. And I wanted to wake up from this nightmare.

John rolled over, to face me and then he spoke, his voice quiet and hesitant.

“Sherlock, today with Ella, she wanted me to say some things, some things that I’ve wanted to say to you for a while and I never have, I never got round to it, I didn’t know how. I didn’t know how you’d react. God, I didn’t want to ruin our friendship, so I never said anything. And now it’s too late, I left it too late but I have to say it now. Sherlock I--” he faltered, breathing deeply, his eyes wet with emotion. My heart was in my throat. No! Not now, not like this!

“John--” I started.

“Sherlock, I love you. I’m in love with you and I think I have been for quite a while. I’m sorry that I didn’t say it before, maybe things would have turned out differently, but there you go, now you know.” He smiled sadly, moving his hand into the space in between us.

“John, I love you too” I whispered back.

John’s eyes snapped to mine “You do? God, we have been right idiots haven’t we?” John murmured. I froze, my mind rapidly shuffling through the possibilities, dismantling and deducing.

“Can you--” I stutter “Can you see me?” I almost can’t bear to hear the answer. John seems to look at me for a moment, before nodding his head, slowly and deliberately “Yeah-- Yeah I can.”

“How?” I asked, completely astonished.

“I don’t know, when I got back from Bart’s I saw you there sat in your chair. I thought I’d gone mad. To be honest, I probably have.” He gave out a sharp laugh “but it’s been, comforting I suppose.” He shrugged. I swallowed, hard. I didn’t know what to say.

“John I-- you need to know, it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anything you--”

“I know” John said, his voice breaking “I think I know that. I just wish there was more I could have done.” I moved my hand forward, covering his with mine. Neither one of us could feel it but it didn’t matter. At that moment, it didn’t matter.

“John I can’t-- I feel like-- I think I am going to--”

“I know Sherlock, I didn’t think you’d be able to stay forever” he smiled, a soft devastating smile “Just promise me one more thing, just one more thing--“

“I don’t think I can stop being dead” I interrupted. John chuckled.

“No, I figured not. But Sherlock… will you wait for me? Promise you’ll wait for me.”

“Okay” I nodded “but please, do everything you can to live a long life. I want you to be happy John and I am so sorry that that couldn’t be with me” I looked away momentarily, composing myself, “but yes, John, I’ll wait for you.” I closed my eyes and just for a moment I felt John’s fingers tighten around mine.

“Good, I love you Sherlock” John murmured once again. And then I felt myself fading away, the darkness surrounding me. John’s words burning incandescently in my mind, my last thought as I ebbed away

**Author's Note:**

> [Warnings: (very) loose reference to suicide and some strong language. Deals with themes of loss and grief.]
> 
> I'm sorry :'( There isn't really a happy ending here! 
> 
> Still let me know what you thought. If you liked it feel free to leave a Kudos or a comment.. if you didn't let me know why. I'm still learning as a writer and would love to know how I can make my fiction better!
> 
> The idea for this fic came from [this post](http://simpleanddestructivechemistry.tumblr.com/post/158605471793/this-is-a-remarkable-set-looks-like-a-ghost) which popped up on my Tumblr dash. It might have made me cry a little bit...


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